The Slow Dance of Infinite Stars
by Gater101
Summary: John Watson goes off to find a fallen star for Sarah Sawyer. What he finds is Sherlock Holmes. AU.
1. Chapter 1

Title: The Slow Dance of the Infinite Stars  
Summary: John goes off to find a fallen star for Sarah. What he finds instead, is Sherlock Holmes.  
Pairing: John/Sarah, ultimately John/Sherlock  
Rating: R-NC-17  
Notes: _Stardust_, but _Sherlock_.  
Disclaimer: Nothing that is publicly recognisable belongs to me. Those pleasures are the pleasures of Neil Gaiman, BBC, Moffat&Gatiss et al.

Part One

Beyond Wall's wall, Faerie was vast. John didn't much like it. He could feel the magic vibrating in the air around him and he'd lost count of how many times he'd relieved himself on a tree or a boulder only for said boulder or tree to shout complaints and cries of disgust at him. The woods shifted and moved around him, thickening and thinning at the most inopportune times and he hated the way that he couldn't rely on anything but his own common sense.

Yet despite this, John found himself enjoying his travels through Faerie. For all that he didn't understand, there was something inside of him that _did _understand it all; like how he knew exactly which way to go to avoid the Serewood's tricks; which berries to pick so that he didn't end up with the worst case of diarrhoea in the history of Faerie and which animal-things to trust and which not to trust.

Mostly, though, he enjoyed the sky. Back in Edinburgh, the inner-city pollution had dulled the stars until they were mostly obscured from the human eye. His father had bought him a telescope once, years before, and he had used to spend hours and hours up on their terraced roof staring at the glittering stars in the sky. Back then, he'd believed the stars to be the souls of the Dead, before he'd gone into Physics class and had that drummed out of him. But here, in the vast purity of Faerie, John could see more stars than he knew the numbers to count (and by now, he could count pretty high), even though he didn't recognise any of the constellations (Faerie was, after all, another world – he was surprised there _were _stars) and he began to feel all his childhood beliefs seep back into his blood.

Lying on his back, his head cushioned on his leather bag as he stared up at the sky, John's thoughts filtered back to the beautiful Sarah Sawyer. He'd loved Sarah Sawyer ever since that night he'd caught a glimpse of her pale, freckled stomach through the window of her bedroom (he may have been perched on the branch right outside her window, or he may not have been but there's no other explanation for the broken leg he'd managed to sustain while _walking home from rugby_). They'd kissed three times since then (once at school in that play, once at Bill Murray's house during a game of Seven Minutes of Heaven and once when she'd fallen and hurt her wrist and he'd kissed her lips to make it better). John rubbed his fingers over his lips and tried to imagine the softness of her skin against his.

He sighed. It was no good.

Ever since they'd been standing at the top of the Royal Mile looking down to the sliver of the Forth that could just be seen in the dark, John had been on the hunt. They'd watched as a star fell from the night sky. She'd asked what he'd wished for, and he'd told her.

"Bring me back the star," she said with a smile, "and I'll do whatever you want."

His mind flooded instantly with images of what he could ask of her and he felt his body stirring. He caught her eye as his face flushed and she winked at him before spinning on her heel and walking off down one of the closes. He watched her dark figure disappear, his mind still working over the images of her spread out beneath him as he-

He adjusted his trousers and sighed, turning back to the horizon in front of him. The star had streaked across the sky, high above them, and he'd turned away too quickly to see where (or, indeed, _if_) if it had landed. He sighed, closed his eyes and shook his head.

Maybe he could just go to WHSmith in the morning and see if the papers had reported anything about stars falling from the sky.

But, of course, it hadn't quite turned out like that. John had gone to his bed that night, horny and in need of a good wank, only to have his plans interrupted by the instant fall into a deep, dream filled slumber. He remembered dreaming of voices and faces, a shrill but too pleasant voice murmuring quiet tunes into his ear that brought back memories of too many nursery rhymes before he'd woken with a start and the desire to board a train to Fort William.

And that's how he'd stumbled on the wall of Wall, where the gap was guarded by too few people. John wasn't even sure how he'd known that the wall was there - and according to the maps, it _shouldn't _be there – but when he'd approached, one of the two guards looked up at him and studied him. John ignored this behemoth in favour of staring at the beautifully exotic woman who was staring fixedly at her hands- no, at something in her hands. John rolled his eyes – she was tapping away on a BlackBerry. She didn't even lift her eyes, only nodded and the behemoth took a step back away from the gap and John knew, without really knowing, that he was to go through it.

So he did and, after a series of tingles shivered their way down his spine he found himself in a thick, dense wood, the ground of which was covered in a thin, glittering fog. John kicked at it and it whistled under his feet and then he felt a chill settle into his bones. It seemed Faerie – and John didn't know how he knew this land was called Faerie, he just did – was in the grip of early Winter.

He hadn't even brought a coat.

* * *

Beside his head, the brush rustled. He sat up swiftly, pulling out the makeshift knife he'd chiselled for himself after the incident with the Hare and listened intently.

"Only me," a voice said and John lowered the knife. The hairy creature hopped out of the undergrowth towards him, pausing to take in the rough carved slate with a small smile. "I see you've learned from the Incident with the Hare." John nodded. "Good." John didn't know what else to say, so he waited quietly while the hairy creature upturned the cloth bag it had strapped to his back. "I've been busy while you've been wandering." John remained quiet. "Got you some more clothes," he continued as he eyed the holey beige jumper and ripped blue jeans John wore with disdain. "Should help you fit right in here in Faerie." He hopped closer to John and nudged his knee before looking him over again. "Ah, there. I knew it would come out soon enough."

"What would?" John asked as tried to fight the urge to push the little creature away from his trousers.

"Your Fae creature." John frowned. "I could smell the magic in your blood, just wasn't sure what it was." He pointed to John's ears and John lifted his hand to them, suddenly, realising that the tops had become smoother, more pointed. He grunted and nodded. He'd felt something happening to him the further into Faerie he'd gone. "It'll help with your journey, too."

"How so?" John asked as he leaned back on the grass, staring up at the sky. He counted the stars and wondered how far away they were; they'd need to be pretty far because he couldn't feel their pull, even though he could feel the pull of the star he was looking for. It was so far away.

"Here," said the creature, thrusting a few items into John's lap. "I'm-a take myself over to this here tree and turn my back for two shakes of a lamb's tail and when I turn back around, I want to see you in your new clothes."

"But-" John began to protest but the hairy creature merely hopped away a few feet and stayed turned away. John grumbled a little but began shedding his clothes. It was too cold to wander around in his holey clothes any longer.

"There's a lad," the creature said a few minutes later and John looked down at himself. He was sure he looked ridiculous dressed as he was in vibrant blue trousers, white floaty shirt and glittering red cardigan but, he had to admit, he was – somehow - much warmer. "Don't you look mighty handsome, hm? Your girl'll not know what to do with you when you bring her back that star."

John snorted through his nose and pictured Sarah's face if he walked up to her dressed like he was and handed her a lump of iron and other crappy natural shit. Stars were only pretty and romantic when they were in the sky and they had the _appearance _of magic. There was nothing romantic about a lump of burnt natural material. But, Sarah Sawyer wanted it, so John would bring it to her.

"You said my ears would help me-"

"Not your ears, laddie, your magic blood." The creature rummaged about in the bag for a few moments and pulled out a small ball of wax, which John recognised to be the remains of a candle. "Take this."

John took it and stared at it.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" He asked sceptically, eyeing the creature.

"What do you usually do with candles? Eat them? No, you're going to light it. But only after I've told you to. There's not much left of it, you see, and there's not another one around heres for a few hundred miles and trust me, lad, you'll need it."

"Why will I need it?"

The creature stared at him, his long ears angled to the side along with his head.

"Where's the star you're looking for?"

John pointed to the north of them.

"Over there."

"How far away is it?"

John thought for a second, saw the moon waxing and waning above him as though on fast forward and he sighed.

"About six months walk away."

The creature winked and nodded towards the candle.

"You'll be needing the candle, son, and a bit more if you can find it." John sighed. He wasn't much enjoying Faerie, despite the beautiful skies. "You'll also be needing this." He held out a long, thin chain that glittered and glimmered in the pale moonlight. John reached out to touch it, feeling its coolness tingle across his skin. He could feel the magic vibrating out of it. He liked that feeling. "Your star probs won't like to be taken away, considering the way it fell out of the sky so what you'll needs to do it chain it to you – also has added benefit of securing it to you if there's other Star Hunters out there, which there's sure to be as it's been a good few decades since a star's fell in Faerie. They know better than to do that so I don't know what your star's been thinking falling into Faerie. Far too dangerous for it to be by itself in here."

It wasn't the first time the creature had talked about the star as though it was... well, not just a star. But John was new to Faerie and the creature had been helpful to him (and his mother had brought him up a well mannered boy, regardless of the thoughts that ran through his head whenever he saw a hint of cleavage) so he refrained from saying anything that may cause offence.

"Okay," John said, taking the chain from the creature and fumbling around the voluminous shirt for a pocket but there was none to be had.

"Just wrap it around your wrist. It won't look so much what it is if you do that."

John didn't question what it actually was and wrapped it around his wrist, feeling the coolness press against his skin. It didn't heat up.

"What else?"

The creature held out a long, black feather that threw off shadows in the milky light. John was entranced by it, if a little hesitant to touch it. He wasn't sure why.

"You'll know what to do with this, when the time comes." John hesitated but the creature just rolled its eyes and thrust it further up nearer John's grasp. He took it, looked about his person, then tucked it into the silver chain on his wrist and he felt the softness of the feather against the outside of his forearm. It had passed straight through the material of his shirt.

"Anything else?"

The creature canted its head and John was sure it was smiling at him.

"Don't forget your way back." John nodded. "Now, light the candle and _walk_."

John was about to comment on that fact that he didn't have a lighter when the wick burst into flame. He stared at it in shock for a moment before he felt the creature nudging the back of his legs.

"Go, _go_."

John went. His first step took him to the top of a mountain, covered in snow and ice and wind and he hurried onto his next step, where there was more snow and ice and wind and the next and the next until he was surrounded by leaves and greenery and where a small pond spread out before him. He stepped again but he didn't go anywhere else and he paused, felt that the star was very, _very _near and he turned, spinning in a tight circle again and again and again. There was a sound, deep and low and mellifluous and he thought it might be the mountains speaking but he quickly realised it was coming from the edge of the pond.

He spun once more towards the sound and took a step towards it, noticing for the first time (though how he could have missed it he would never know) a glimmering, shining _person _gathering bits of mud and throwing them at John.

Mud landed on his candle, putting the flame out and the small clearing should have been pitched into darkness but John could see perfectly well. He knew it had nothing to do with his eyesight suddenly becoming better but that it had everything to do with the glinting figure before him. It was big, about six feet tall with dark hair and pale, pale skin and was clad in a long black thing that John initially thought was a cloak. The figure was dirty but still reflected rays of light like a mirror in front of the sun and John knew, just like he knew how everything in Faerie worked, that this was his star.

"You are not what I was expecting," John said.

A splat of mud landed on his chest.


	2. Chapter 2

Title: The Slow Dance of Infinite Stars  
Summary: John goes off to find a fallen star for Sarah Sawyer. What he finds is Sherlock Holmes.  
Pairing: John/Sherlock, some John/Sarah  
Rating: R-NC-17  
Notes: _Stardust_, but _Sherlock  
_Disclaimer: Nothing that is publicly recognisable belongs to me. Those pleasures are the pleasures of Neil Gaiman, the BBC, Steven Moffatt & Mark Gattiss and, originally, Mr Conan Doyle.

* * *

"You are not what I was expecting," John said.

A splat of mud landed on his chest. John looked down at it, the sloppy brownness reminding him of a time when he'd slid, belly first, down a hill to impress Mary Morstan. He'd been eleven. She'd not been impressed.

"That seems to be a common theme," the star replied, grumpily and John sighed, taking a step towards it. Another splat of mud landed on his chest but John moved faster than the star did and was kneeling by its side before it could gather more mud for another shot. "What are you doing?" The star demanded, sliding back from John's outstretched hand.

"You need to come with me."

The star scoffed.

"I need do no such thing." John reached out again, sliding the dirty lump of candle into his pocket before reaching out to his outstretched wrist for the chain wrapped around it. "Don't think you're putting that chain on me, nymph. With your shoulder hurt as it is, I could easily knock you down."

John hesitated for a moment then let out a laugh as he shook his head and noted the way that the star's body moved to protect its left leg and ribs.

"Then why don't you?"

There was a tense moment where John wasn't sure he'd guessed the star's injuries properly but the star fell backwards with a dramatic flop and sighed.

"You are much more observant than any of the others I've ever come into contact with." The star turned its head and looked at John, and John noted the way that its eyes looked like galaxies trapped around a black hole – a black hole that he felt he was being sucked into. "My brother would be most impressed."

"Your brother?" John queried, sitting back on his haunches. This star wasn't going anywhere anytime soon without John's assistance so he felt he could afford a few minutes of sitting down.

The star sighed dramatically and John was almost sure he could _hear _the eye-roll that accompanied the sigh.

"Yes." He didn't elaborate any further and, after a few long moments of silence, John shook his head in bemusement and slid the chain off his wrist. It glimmered in the moonlight, the same way the star glittered in the shadows. It was mesmerising. "I already told you, you are not going to put that on me."

"Sorry but I am," John said as he reached out across the shifting darkness between them and grasped for the edge of the black cloak that covered the star. It was surprisingly thick and rough against John's palm. He shifted his hand about, ignoring the squirming of the body across from him and finally found a wrist (it was cold but John, for some reason, thought it would have been colder). The star struggled, using whatever energy he had left to try to pull away and John almost felt bad. Almost. "I need to take you back across the wall with me."

"The Wall?" The star asked, startled and John used the momentary distraction to wrap the end of the chain around the wrist and then wrapped the other end around his own. John looked up to the stars face again, noting the scowl that graced its forehead. "Hm. Perhaps I've overestimated you."

John huffed and stood up, tugging on the chain. There was a brief slackening where John was sure it would just slip off his wrist but it tightened up and tensed between the two of them.

"What do you mean?"

The star narrowed its eyes again, glancing up and down John's body.

"You're not from Faerie, despite having Faerie blood." John made to agree but the star continued. "A strange accent, though one I've heard before. Edinburgh, with a touch of London. Your mother is Scottish but your father English – he worked away a lot while you were younger and you failed to pick up his accent but there are traces which suggest that he either spent more time around you during your young adolescence, or you've spent some time in your other Capital City but you've recently returned... for summer, no doubt, given that the Winter Solstice in Faerie is only a few weeks away."

John gaped.

"How did you...?"

"Though why you've come to Faerie, that's the real interest. You've come to collect a star, no doubt not realising what – or indeed, _who _- stars actually are and you have no doubt failed to realise what will happen if you try and take me across the Wall. But why would you want to collect a star?" There was a pause and John wasn't sure if he was supposed to reply so he kept quiet, staring (mouth open) at the star as its Milky-Way eyes glanced over John again. "Ah. Romance." It – he? – sighed and John would swear he saw a pout on the full – so full – lips. "Dull."

"Dull? How is that dull? Sarah Sawyer said she would do anything I wanted if I brought her back the star we saw falling out of the sky."

The eyes were back on him again, though the interest that had sparked the shimmering star-like quality of them seemed to have dimmed and John drew his lips into a tight line.

"Dull. Boring. Tedious. _Predictable_."

John didn't say anything but started tugging on the chain and the star jolted forward a little, then hissed in pain. John dropped to his knees instantly, his hands reaching out of their own accord to the grimacing star.

"_Don't touch me_."

John's hands withdrew. He stared at the star for a long moment and considered – for a short fraction of a second – untying the chain and leaving the star. But his friend the hairy creature had said it had been years since there'd been another falling star and John doubted he'd get away with breaking into Dynamic Earth.

"Is it your leg?"

The eyes were on him again, scathing and intent.

"Well observed. Perhaps I haven't overestimated you after all."

"Shut up." That seemed to startle the star for a moment and John tried to hide his smirk. "Let me look at it."

The star scoffed.

"What would be the point in that? You're a nymph, not a witch."

John scoffed at that, his hackles bristling.

"I'm _not _a nympho!"

The star rolled its eyes again. John was getting fed up with the sight of that.

"I said 'nymph', not 'nympho'. Idiot."

John blew out his breath in a quick rush and saw the curls of his stars' (his star? Really?) hair flutter against its forehead before settling back again. The star glared.

"I want to be a doctor."

"But you're not one yet, are you?"

John glared.

"Is it broken?" He asked instead, managing to find some semblance of patience. He pictured Sarah (he pictured Sarah _spread out against the desk in his dad's study, nipple sticking out over the top of her pulled down bra, pants askew and John - _he cleared his throat) and hoped (knew, really) that it would be worth it, in the end.

The star hesitated a moment, glancing at the chain linking it to John then down to where John assumed its leg was and then back up to John's face.

"Yes. I do believe that it is."

John nodded and looked around.

"I'll make a splint."

* * *

"The medical board won't be giving you a medical license any time soon," the star murmured as john finished tying the splint in place (his jumper was holey anyway, the thick wool the only thing strong enough to hold the splint together but John still sighed at the loss).

"I'm eighteen, I haven't even started first year yet."

"And nor are you likely to this year, unless you happen to be able to ifly/i as well as make splints out of rather hideous jumpers and tree branches. It itches, by the way."

"Do you want me to make it hurt instead?" John bit back, his tone the most acerbic he'd managed all night. The star looked quelled for a moment before a defiant look crossed over its features again. "I don't care what you're going to say. Get up and come with me."

The star huffed and looked ready to stay put but when John stood up and began walking away, it had no choice but to try to stand. John heard it grunting behind him, the sound of mud sloshing wetly underfoot and he turned back, his anger draining somewhat. He reached out a hand and the star took it then snatched his own back quickly, glaring up at John.

"I can manage on my own."

John snorted.

"Sure you can."

He turned away, listening to the sounds of motion behind him, the quiet hisses of pain and the eventual (inevitable) splash as the star fell back to the muddy ground. John turned then, looked down at the star then quickly turned away again exclaiming,

"You're naked!"

There was a long silence and then another sigh.

"No. I have my cloak."

"You're naked beneath that!"

"You're naked beneath your clothes, too." John couldn't reply to that and the silence stretched out between the two of them. "If we really must move, then I will require assistance. It appears I may have cracked a few ribs in the fall, as well."

John sighed.

"If you cover up your bottom half, I'll bind your ribs, too."

He was met with silence.

* * *

"You're uncomfortable."

John knew it wasn't a question. His request that the star cover it's nether regions had gone unheeded, the cloak serving as a blanket on the ground rather than as a device of modesty and John fought to keep his eyes above waist level. Which was difficult, given that he was binding the stars _ribs_.

"I did ask you to cover yourself up."

"I don't see what the problem is. You're body has the same mechanisms as mine." John didn't say anything. "Doesn't it?" The star prompted and John breathed out harshly, his breath unsettling the curls again. The star smirked. "Exactly."

He worked in silence for a few more moments, tying off the last of make-shift bandages.

"Can you breathe?" The star breathed. "Is it too tight?" The star shook its head and when John looked up from his handiwork to the star's face, his eyes were caught once again in the expanding black hole. John tried to turn away (maybe, maybe not) but his eyes were fixed on the shifting grey before him, his palm resting over the knot he'd just finished tying. His breath came out in white foggy puffs in front of him, translucent in the shimmering light of the star. He held his breath, his heart hammering against his chest almost painfully.

The star looked away and John sagged back, expanding the small inches of space between him and the star.

He cleared his throat and shifted and-

He was hard. Oh, _God _he was hard and...

He turned away.

"Get dressed. We're going," he ordered gruffly, his voice ridiculously hoarse.

The star paused and John turned slightly to grouch further when he saw that the star, too, was showing signs that it too was at least human in one respect.

"And how do you plan on getting us to Wall?" The star asked once it was ensconced back in its cloak and John had an arm around its waist (he really wished he'd kept some of the bits of wood as a crutch because _really_...). John fiddled in his pocket and pulled out the dirty lump of candle, wiping some of the mud away from the wick. "Ah."

"Yes. If this doesn't work, I'm going to drop you and kick your leg."

There was a huff that John was sure was a laugh and then he looked at the candle, thought about lighting it and-

"Let's go," the star murmured and John gripped his arm tighter around its waist and took a step. Mountains, snow, wind; another step, mountain, snow wind; another step, a dirt track road, rain and wind; another step and...

The candle flickered, gasped for air and then petered out, the last of the wax melting across John's hand.

"Good job, I feel we're closer to Wall already."

John sighed.


End file.
